Rebecca did not hug Marcus.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second was that she wanted to.
Her arms moved slightly when she saw him, then stopped as if some old instinct had collided with three years of anger.
Marcus did the same.
Liam, naturally, noticed everything.
“Are you Marcus’s sister?”
Rebecca looked down.
“I am.”
“I’m Liam.”
“I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you.”
Liam looked offended.
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
“Maybe we should go inside.”
“My apartment?” I asked.
Rebecca looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to arrive at your door.”
“You didn’t.”
I pointed at Marcus.
“He did.”
“I panicked.”
“You brought your family crisis to the woman whose couch you occupied for two weeks?”
“That seemed consistent.”
Rebecca stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
The tension loosened by one degree.
We went inside.
Rebecca placed her suitcase near the door.
Her eyes traveled around the apartment, pausing on the couch.
“That one?”
Marcus sighed.
“Yes, Rebecca. That’s the famous couch.”
She touched the back cushion.
“You slept here?”
“For a while.”
“And before that?”
“Rebecca.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You called me after three years and told me you had been sleeping outside. I flew fifteen hundred miles. I’m allowed to ask questions.”
Liam sat on the floor.
I pointed toward his bedroom.
He shook his head.
I pointed again.
He whispered, “This is important.”
“Room.”
He went, reluctantly.
Rebecca waited until his door closed.
“How long?”
Marcus stood near the window.
“A few months.”
“A few?”
“Maybe four.”
Her face went white.
“You were homeless for four months.”
“Approximately.”
“Approximately?”
“Rebecca—”
“Did you have my number?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know where I lived?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know I had a spare bedroom?”
“Yes.”
“Then explain it.”
Marcus looked at me.
I started toward the kitchen.
Rebecca stopped me.
“Please stay.”
I hesitated.
“I don’t think this is my business.”
“My brother apparently made you his emergency contact without telling anyone.”
“I did not.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“You slept in her home.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“You let her organize your legal case.”
Marcus’s head turned.
“How do you know that?”
“Your attorney called me.”
“What?”
“You listed me as next of kin years ago. Apparently nobody updated it.”
Marcus looked horrified.
Rebecca folded her arms.
“He called because you weren’t answering this morning.”
“My phone was charging.”
“He thought something happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
Rebecca laughed bitterly.
“That sentence again.”
Marcus went silent.
She looked at me.
“Does he always do that?”
“Yes.”
“Chloe.”
“What? You asked.”
Rebecca sat.
“I spent years believing he hated me.”
Marcus looked at her.
“I never hated you.”
“You had a strange way of demonstrating that.”
“I was angry.”
“You told me I abandoned Mom.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“You said she died wondering why her daughter didn’t care enough to stay.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
Marcus looked down.
“That was cruel.”
“It was a lie.”
“Yes.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled.
“Do you understand how many times I replayed that?”
“Yes.”
“No. You don’t.”
She wiped her cheek angrily.
“I called Mom every day. I flew here whenever I could. I had two children under six and a husband taking care of his own dying mother.”
“I know.”
“Mom told me not to come.”
Marcus looked up.
“What?”
Rebecca stared.
“Three days before she died.”
“I was there.”
“You were asleep in the chair beside her bed.”
He said nothing.
“She called me. She told me not to put my children on another plane. She said you were with her.”
Marcus’s face changed.
“She never told me.”
“She was protecting both of us.”
Rebecca’s voice broke.
“And then she died, and you told me she thought I abandoned her.”
Marcus sat down.
For once, he had no answer.
The silence stretched.
Then Liam’s bedroom door opened.
He appeared in the hallway.
“Sorry.”
I gave him a look.
“I need water.”
“You have a bottle.”
“It’s empty.”
It was not.
Rebecca laughed through her tears.
“Come get water.”
Liam hurried to the kitchen.
While filling his glass, he looked at Rebecca.
“Was your mom Marcus’s mom too?”
“Yes.”
“So you were both sad.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Very.”
Liam looked at Marcus.
“Then why were you mean to each other?”
Nobody answered.
Liam waited.
Children had a ruthless patience for questions adults preferred to escape.
Marcus finally said, “Because sometimes being sad makes people angry.”
“At the wrong person?”
“Yes.”
Liam considered that.
“Did saying mean stuff make your mom come back?”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Then it didn’t work.”
“No, buddy.”
“It made everything worse.”
“Yes.”
Liam drank his water.
“Okay.”
Then he returned to his bedroom.
Rebecca watched him go.
“Is he always like that?”
“Constantly,” I said.
Marcus leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Rebecca.”
She looked at him.
“I’m sorry.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I know that isn’t enough.”
“No.”
“I don’t know what would be.”
“Neither do I.”
He nodded.
“But I’m sorry anyway.”
Rebecca stared at him for a long time.
Then she asked, “Why didn’t you call me after the accident?”
“Pride.”
“That’s not enough.”
“Shame.”
Her expression softened slightly.
Marcus continued.
“I kept thinking I’d fix it.”
“Your knee?”
“Everything.”
He gestured vaguely.
“The claim. Work. Money. Housing.”
“And every time it got worse?”
“I told myself I’d call after I solved the next problem.”
Rebecca looked at him with exhausted disbelief.
“You were waiting to ask for help until you didn’t need help.”
“Yes.”
“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”
“I know.”
She started laughing.
Marcus did too.
Then, somehow, Rebecca crossed the space between them.
The hug was awkward.
Marcus stood too quickly and winced.
Rebecca immediately released him.
“Oh my God. Your knee.”
“It’s fine.”
She glared.
He corrected himself.
“It hurts.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For finally saying something true.”
That evening we ate together.
Rebecca told Liam stories about Marcus as a teenager.
Most involved broken appliances.
Apparently, at fourteen, he had dismantled their parents’ toaster because it browned one side of bread more than the other.
“Did you fix it?” Liam asked.
Rebecca grinned.
“No. He electrocuted himself.”
“I got shocked.”
“You flew backward.”
“I stumbled.”
“You landed in the dog’s water bowl.”
Liam laughed until he nearly fell off his chair.
Marcus pointed at Rebecca.
“This is why we stopped talking.”
For the first time, the joke did not hurt.
After dinner, Rebecca returned to her hotel.
Marcus walked her downstairs.
When he came back, his face looked lighter and more exhausted at the same time.
“You okay?” I asked.
“No.”
I smiled.
“Progress.”
He nodded.
“Definitely.”
The next morning, however, another problem arrived.
Henderson knocked at eight.
Marcus was not there.
He had gone to breakfast with Rebecca.
Henderson handed me an envelope.
“What is this?”
“Updated balance.”
I opened it.
My stomach dropped.
The amount was higher than I expected.
“What are these charges?”
“Late fees.”
“You said you stopped adding them.”
“I said I’d hold eviction.”
“You told me—”
“I told you thirty days before filing.”
I read the page.
Two administrative fees had been added.
Then a repair charge.
I looked up.
“What repair?”
“Door.”
“My door?”
“Materials.”
“Marcus fixed that.”
“Used my supplies later for the building.”
“That has nothing to do with my door.”
Henderson shrugged.
“Accounting.”
I felt heat rise into my face.
“You can’t just invent charges.”
“They’re in your lease.”
“Show me.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Show me where.”
His expression hardened.
“You’re getting aggressive.”
“I’m asking you to show me.”
He looked past me into the apartment.
“Where’s your maintenance friend?”
“Not here.”
“Maybe he can explain contracts too.”
Then Henderson walked away.
I closed the door.
My hands shook.
The additional charges were not enormous.
That almost made them worse.
Eighty dollars.
Forty-five.
Thirty-two.
Small enough to seem plausible.
Large enough to keep me perpetually behind.
I pulled out my lease.
For twenty minutes, I searched.
Nothing clearly explained the repair charge.
At eleven, Marcus arrived with Rebecca.
He knew immediately.
“What happened?”
I handed him the statement.
He read it.
His expression went flat.
Rebecca looked over his shoulder.
“What are those?”
“Garbage,” Marcus said.
“Marcus.”
“They are.”
He pointed.
“This repair charge makes no sense.”
“Henderson says it’s accounting.”
“That isn’t a sentence.”
Rebecca took the lease.
“What does your agreement say?”
“What agreement?”
“The thirty-day extension.”
I retrieved it.
She read every line.
Then looked up.
“This says he won’t initiate eviction proceedings for thirty days.”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t say he can’t add charges.”
My heart sank.
Marcus shook his head.
“That doesn’t make the charges legitimate.”
“No.”
Rebecca turned toward me.
“What do you do at the rehabilitation center?”
“Admissions.”
“So you understand records.”
“Yes.”
“Then get records.”
Marcus looked at her.
She continued.
“Every maintenance request you made. Every email. Every text. Every receipt. Every rent payment.”
I stared.
“You sound like a lawyer.”
“I manage insurance contracts for a medical practice.”
Marcus blinked.
“You do?”
Rebecca looked at him.
“You would know that if you ever called.”
He deserved that.
By noon, my kitchen table had become a document station.
Rebecca organized.
I searched email.
Marcus wrote a timeline of repairs.
Liam contributed colored markers until Rebecca gently explained that legal documentation did not improve with dinosaurs.
We found seven messages I had sent Henderson about the front door.
Four about the faucet.
Three about the broken exterior light.
One photograph showing the damaged handrail months before Marcus arrived.
Rebecca looked at the dates.
“Keep this.”
“For what?”
“Because he’s charging you for correcting problems you reported repeatedly.”
Marcus nodded.
“He can charge for tenant-caused damage. Deferred maintenance is different.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“You’re useful.”
“I’ve heard.”
By three, we had a folder.
Another folder.
My life was becoming color-coded too.
Rebecca placed the statement inside.
“Don’t pay the disputed charges until you get clarification in writing.”
“I don’t want him filing.”
“Pay the undisputed rent.”
“I can do that.”
“Document everything.”
Marcus leaned against the counter.
“I’ll talk to him.”
Rebecca and I said, “No,” simultaneously.
He looked offended.
Rebecca pointed at him.
“You are emotionally involved.”
“So are you.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“That makes you less emotionally involved?”
“It makes me temporary.”
I laughed.
Marcus looked at me.
“You think this is funny?”
“A little.”
He sighed.
Then his phone rang.
His attorney.
The humor vanished.
Marcus answered.
He listened.
His face changed.
Rebecca noticed too.
“What?” she whispered.
Marcus held up one finger.
“Yes,” he said into the phone.
Then:
“When?”
Pause.
“Can they do that before the challenge?”
Another pause.
His shoulders dropped.
“I understand.”
He ended the call.
Rebecca stood.
“What happened?”
Marcus looked at both of us.
“The insurer accepted the independent examiner’s recommendation.”
My stomach tightened.
“They’re stopping the temporary payments?”
“Not immediately.”
“How long?”
“Fourteen days.”
Rebecca whispered something under her breath.
Marcus sat.
“The attorney is filing an objection.”
“And until then?” I asked.
“I have fourteen days.”
It was strange.
Only weeks earlier, Marcus had been the man trying to buy me time.
Now someone had placed a clock on him.
Rebecca sat beside her brother.
“What do you need?”
Marcus stared at the floor.
This time, he did not say he was fine.
He thought.
Then he looked up.
“I need help.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: With Marcus’s Benefits About to Stop and My Rent Dispute Growing, We Finally Learned Which Problem Could Not Be Repaired Alone
The Stranger Outside the Grocery Store Had Stopped Asking for Help Long Before My Son Refused to Walk Past Him
Part 6 of 28
